


What Could Be As Lonely As Love?

by NotTotallyReal



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A lot of angst tbh, Alternate Ending, Angst, Bookshop Fire angst, Eventual Romance, Heaven, Nightmares, No Smut, Not Really A Happy Ending, Other, Sorry!, they do get together tho, uhh first hug, yeah I'm really awful at tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29279991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTotallyReal/pseuds/NotTotallyReal
Summary: This is an alternate ending that starts when Aziraphale is discorporated and sent to Heaven. However, he isn't able to touch the globe and reach Crowley, so Crowley has to save the world (mostly) by himself. A lot of stuff happens: betrayals occur, alliances are re-aligned, love confessions are made, hugs are had, and there is plenty of alcohol.This does have some dark parts so if you're looking for a cute get-together where everything is wrapped up in a neat bow at the end, this isn't for you. I'm just a romantic pessimist who doesn't think relationships work like that lol.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	What Could Be As Lonely As Love?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, hope you like it!

Aziraphale can’t stop staring at this angel’s beard. He knows he should really be paying attention to what he’s saying, and thinking of good excuses and all that, but the only thing he can really focus on is how much he wishes Crowley was there. _Someone really embraced the whole “tiger as their spirit animal” thing, didn’t they, angel?_ Aziraphale can practically hear Crowley’s teasing tone, can almost see his smirk.

What Aziraphale can actually hear is the impatient, perfunctory throat-clearing of his boss. Aziraphale jumps slightly, his nerves still on edge from that dreadful encounter with the other angels. It is another example of Aziraphale’s rather terrible luck that Gabriel appears behind him just when he’s explaining about the missing flaming sword and the nonexistent corporation.

He turns around slowly, even though he knows Gabriel’s mocking smile will be just as cruelly sharp no matter how long it takes for Aziraphale to see it. 

“Need a new corporation, huh, Aziraphale?” Gabriel asks. “Not the most responsible angel,” he whispers as an aside to the strangely-bearded angel who looks quite on edge in Gabriel’s presence. 

Aziraphale notices Gabriel staring expectantly at him, and clears his throat. “Right,” Aziraphale says. “Um, I did have a spot of trouble getting up here, so it really would be wonderful if uh, well, I mean, er…”

Gabriel waits for Aziraphale to finish stuttering, and once he does, the archangel claps his hands together loudly. 

“Right,” he declares. “Let’s get this little angel a new corporation and send him to his unit. Quickly, now! We’ve got a war coming!”

_Little angel?!_ Aziraphale’s face burns in abject humiliation, but he keeps his chin up as he is marched down to the Corporation Distribution Center. He thinks about losing his escort and trying to get back to Earth to talk with Crowley, but Gabriel is clearly keeping tabs on him. Heaven’s got those photos of him and Crowley, and it seems that they are going to wring every drop of work out of him before they deign to officially punish him. Aziraphale huffs at the unfairness, although not loud enough for his guide to hear him.

_Crowley will surely find the book when he goes to try and convince me again. He always was a persistent serpent. He’ll find the book, he’ll figure it all out, he’ll find the Antichrist and try and stop him._

_He’ll know what to do. But he first must go to the bookshop and find that book. I’m sure he’ll find the book. Yes, he has to._

...

Crowley is currently drinking at the first bar he found once he had slowly removed his hands from their death grip on the Bentley’s steering wheel and looked up. 

“Sorry,” he told her. “Just, uh, got a lot going on.”

Crowley gave her dashboard an affectionate pat and stumbled out of the car. Now, with a hearty amount of alcohol in his system, Crowley’s thoughts turn back to the angel. Actually, that’s a lie. Crowley hasn’t stopped thinking about Aziraphale since he first smelled smoke. 

“I didn’t ask to be a demon!” he cries out. _If I was still an angel, I would have been able to protect him. But if I was still an angel, he wouldn’t have gotten killed for being friends with me. But then he wouldn’t have been friends with me. He might have been friends with me. No, he wouldn’t have been friends with me, but he’d be alive._

“I’m a terrible friend,” Crowley hiccups. “The absolute worse,” he confides to his shot glass. 

“Fucking archangels,” he mutters. “Fucking archangel twats!!!”

The bartender comes over, but Crowley waves his hand and the bartender is stumped as to why he ever thought there was a sobbing redheaded man in that chair. 

“I lost my best friend,” Crowley blubbers. “Best, best friend. Loved books, and wine, and stupidly sweet things that cost too much. He didn’t love me, but that was alright. Said we weren’t friends, but we were. We were…” Crowley trails off, finishing the bottle and miracling another from behind the bar’s counter. 

Suddenly, Crowley remembers the book he nicked from the burning bookshop. He picks it up, dangling it from a thumb and forefinger. _Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter. Could’ve sworn I’ve heard Aziraphale gushing over that. Wonder what it says._

Crowley opens the book and is extremely surprised to see Aziraphale’s writing. Aziraphale never writes in his books. Crowley squints and tries to read what he’s written, blinking when he sees “Location of the Anti-Christ” written in Aziraphale’s perfect cursive. 

_What in the name of Satan’s red arse is this?_

Crowley grunts with effort as several bottles littered on the table refill themselves. With a considerably clearer head, Crowley flips through the book, noting everything that Aziraphale had written in it. 

He leans backward, shaking his head. _He found the Antichrist. That beautiful bastard figured it out and didn’t even tell me. Well, he might have meant to tell me. Might as well give him the benefit of the doubt, seeing as he’s dead._

Crowley feels himself gearing up for another sob about his dead angel and quickly rids his corporation of any hopes of that happening. _I’m going to find that blasted Anti-Christ, I’m going to stop Armageddon, I’m going to fuck up those fucking archangels, but most of all, I’m going to save the world. I’m going to save it for Aziraphale._

…

Aziraphale looks around at this section of the Heavenly Host before he realizes he’s the only one not staring straight ahead. He snaps his head back into place, but can’t seem to make himself stand as motionless as everyone else. Desperately hoping they won’t notice, Aziraphale shifts his weight from foot to foot as his thoughts turn to Crowley. _I do hope he’s all right. He must understand that I couldn’t possibly run away to Alpha Centauri with him, no matter how much I sometimes want to. He’ll forgive me eventually, I suppose. He’s not one to hold a grudge._

Aziraphale can’t help replaying the scene in the bookshop and cursing, well, angels don’t curse any humans, so being extremely annoyed with that Sergeant Shadwell. First, there was the uncalled-for homophobia and then the stupefying switch with the whole “tempting women” accusation. _Honestly, why are humans so stupid sometimes?_

This thought makes Aziraphale think of Crowley shouting at him, “How can someone as clever as you be so stupid?” It had been bewildering to see the demon so upset. Surely he must have understood that Aziraphale’s first loyalty was to Heaven, no matter his feelings towards Crowley.

That argument had been outside the bookshop, and it was the last time he’d seen Crowley. _Crowley must have found the book by now, and likely went straight to Tadfield. He’ll sort it all out, he always does._

Looking around at the army of angels, Aziraphale can’t help feeling worried. _If Crowley doesn’t manage to stop Armageddon, then we both might die, and we certainly won’t be able to go back to our cozy life on Earth. Even if he does stop it and save the world, how am I going to get out of this mess? The angels know about us, and I’m sure they assume the worst. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me._

Aziraphale sternly tells himself to worry about one thing at a time and stands straighter, like Aziraphale, Principality and Guardian of the Eastern Gate, should. _Once I learn whether or not he managed to stop Armageddon, I can worry about what happens after that._

…

Crowley shows up rather late to Armageddon, the whole thing with Hastur and the flaming M-25 really adding to his travel time. But, he’s here, no worse for wear, although his poor car is in shit shape. 

Crowley takes a moment to properly mourn the Bentley as it finally gives up and becomes the pile of burning metal, glass, and leather that it has been for the past 2 hours. 

“Had her from new,” he says to no one in particular since the rather inept guard had already been sent to an early vacation in the Bahamas. 

Holding the window crank tightly in his hand, Crowley heads off to find the Antichrist. He’s rather surprised to find four children standing around the remains of what his demonic senses tell him were the Apocalyptic Horsepersons. 

_Well, that saved me a bit of trouble._

“Right,” he says, sauntering over to four children in usual Crowley fashion. “Good job on that, now let’s get ready for the next thing.”

Three of the children glare cautiously at him, but Crowley notices all of them looking towards the boy in the red jacket. _Found me the Antichrist, then._

“I know who you are,” the Antichrist says, tilting his head and calmly studying Crowley. “Where’s Aziraphale?”

“He’s dead,” Crowley says sharply. “And you lot will be too if you don’t prepare.”

“Prepare for what?” the girl asks. 

Suddenly, Lord Beezlebub and stupid prick Gabriel appear. 

“Fuck,” Crowley curses under his breath. He turns towards the children. “Hey, Antichrist! Yeah, you. What’s your name?”

The Antichrist looks at him and responds “Adam.”

“Alright, Adam. Those arseholes are going to try and convince you to start Armageddon because they want to have a pissing contest and see who wins.”

Crowley steps closer, doing his best not to loom that aggressively. 

“They don’t care about you, your friends, your family, or this Earth,” the demon snaps.

“Now, do you want everyone you know to die? Do you want everything gone, billions dead, even innocent little animals?”

The Antichrist slowly shakes his head. 

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Crowley says. “Then tell them that and we’re all good.”

The Antichrist does, and Crowley relishes the matching expressions of righteous desperation on Lord Beezlebub’s and arsehole Archangel Gabriel’s faces. 

Naturally, when Crowley thinks he might be getting a smattering of good luck, he feels Satan coming. 

_Shitfuckinghellbitchshitfuckarse!!!!_

Crowley freezes time, grabbing the Antichrist and pulling him off to the side to talk to him. 

“Look,” Crowley tells him. “Your father is coming, not your human father, but your real father. _Satan_.”

Crowley takes in Adam’s confused look and clarifies. 

“He’s going to try and make you start Armageddon again. If you really want to save the world like you say you do, you have to make a choice. You have to choose who your family is.”

Crowley puts his hands on the boy’s shoulders and looks him in the eyes.

“You don’t love this great big red bugger who wants to kill your friends and destroy all the places you love. Choose your friends, choose your real family, choose humanity instead of Him!”

The Antichrist still looks confused so Crowley shakes his shoulders and shouts at him, “You have to choose to be human! Reject Satan! Make your dad your real father! YOU HAVE TO!”

Crowley sees the determined glint in the Antichrist’s eye and so he unfreezes time. The Antichrist does it, he really does it, he’s turning himself human and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. _I did that! I convinced him! I’ve saved the world!!_

Crowley has the sobering thought that Aziraphale isn’t there to see it. As if he can read his mind, the Antichrist asks again, “Where’s Aziraphale?”

Wearily, Crowley responds “He’s dead.”

“No, he’s not.” 

“Yes, he is.” _What’s this little prick playing at? Of course, he’s dead._

“ _No,_ he’s not.”

“ _Yes_ , he is!”

“NO, he’s not!” 

Crowley crosses his arms and sneers at the Antichrist. “Prove it then.”

The Antichrist closes his eyes, and suddenly Aziraphale appears in front of Crowley. 

His throat suddenly very dry, Crowley croaks out, “Aziraphale?”

“Crowley!” his angel responds. “Er, hello.” Aziraphale looks around, sees Gabriel and Beezlebub, and moves closer to Crowley. 

“Is this real?” Crowley asks the Antichrist. The Antichrist rolls his eyes and says, “I’m not totally human yet, so I know what happened. He just got discorporated.”

Crowley whirls around and demands of Aziraphale, “Is this true? You’re all right?!”

Aziraphale looks surprised and exclaims, “Why yes, of course! Surely you didn’t think, oh. You did think that. Um, I’m sorry about that.”

“B-but the fire!” Crowley cries. “The bookshop was on fire! And you’re fine??”

“Fire?” Aziraphale asks worriedly. “Oh, dear!”

There is a pause as Aziraphale appears to mourn his bookshop. 

“But I am perfectly fine, I assure you,” he says a bit sadly, like it would have been better that the bookshop be fine instead of him. 

Before Crowley can continue gaping at Aziraphale, who is suddenly perfectly fine and right next to him, Gabriel steps forward and starts talking to Aziraphale. 

“So, Aziraphale,” Gabriel says, rubbing his hands together like a dumbass James Bond villain. “We had a spot of trouble here, nothing we can’t work out, of course, so why don’t you come over here and we’ll go back to Heaven and figure it out.”

Crowley hisses at him, “He’sss not going anywhere.”

Gabriel smiles. “Oh, and you must be Crawly, the pathetic, clingy little demon.”

Crowley hisses in outrage, but before he can do something appropriate, like gouge out Gabriel’s eyes, Aziraphale steps forward. 

“Now,” he says nervously. “I’m sure we can all talk, um, civilly.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow at _that,_ but Gabriel just laughs, responding, “Civil? Angels aren’t _civil_ towards demons. You’ve gotten soft, Aziraphale.”

Gabriel seems to take in Aziraphale’s pained expression, a little smile on his stupid face. “Smite him, Aziraphale, so we can go home. Tick-tock! I haven’t got all day.”

“Smite me?” Crowley laughs. “Aziraphale wouldn’t smite anyone.”

“Wanna bet?” smirks Gabriel. 

“Ssssure!” Crowley hisses at him. Crowley waits for the angel beside him to tell off Gabriel, but Aziraphale is silent. He’s got an expression of intense thinking, and Crowley can’t seem to stop himself from quietly asking, “You wouldn’t smite me, right?”

Aziraphale just looks at him hopelessly. 

…

Aziraphale is in a _really_ bad spot. He wants to grab Crowley and go to Alpha Centauri, but he knows Gabriel wouldn’t let him go. And now Gabriel is looking at him like he always does, like he’s _inferior,_ and not a real angel at all. Aziraphale can’t seem to stop himself from shrinking away under that hard gaze, shrinking back into the meek angel Gabriel thinks he is. 

Aziraphale looks up at Crowley and sees nothing but desperate trust in his golden eyes. _Maybe I could smite him, just a little bit, enough to satisfy Gabriel. Then he’ll realize that we aren’t friends and I was thwarting his wiles in all those pictures they have of us. I’ll be alright, and Gabriel will leave Crowley alone. Crowley’s smart, he can claim he was trying to Tempt me, and Hell would believe him, maybe give him another commendation. We’d both be alright, even if we never see each other again. I need him to be alright, so I need to smite him, just a little bit._

Aziraphale stares at Crowley, trying his best to communicate his plan with his eyes, but he isn’t sure Crowley is getting it. That demon just keeps staring at him, waiting for Aziraphale to say something. 

“Er,” Aziraphale starts.

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel sings out. “ _Hurry_ up!! Smite this stupid demon already!”

Aziraphale tugs his waistcoat down nervously, shifting his gaze from Crowley to Gabriel and then back again.

Gabriel appears to have run out of patience and stalks over to Aziraphale. 

“Smite him right this second, Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate and huge fucking waste of space,” Gabriel’s voice rings out, clear and True in the crisp fall air. 

“Are you disobeying God’s plan?” he sneers. “Is that what you’re doing, stupid fat little angel?”

Aziraphale sees Crowley getting ready to do something unbelievably foolish like attacking Gabriel, so he starts to summon his Grace. _He’ll forgive me, won’t he? He will. He must!_

Crowley immediately whips his head back to stare in disbelief at Aziraphale, who is slowly advancing towards him. Anyone else looking would have thought the demon was still as a serpent, analyzing his attacker’s stride, waiting for the moment to strike. 

Aziraphale, who’s known him for six thousand years, and loves him terribly, sees the truth. Crowley is petrified with shock, his eyes burning with betrayal. Aziraphale hears him breathe, “Angel,” before he suddenly disappears, taking the children with him. 

Aziraphale closes his eyes, the image of Crowley burnt into his eyelids. _Crowley will never forgive me._

…

Crowley finds himself in some picturesque woods, likely brought there by the remnants of the Antichrist’s love for the place. The demon stumbles, almost hitting a tree. He whirls around when he hears soft words behind him and is rather surprised to see the children there. 

Just when Crowley wants to turn into a snake and sleep for a thousand years to forget the look on Aziraphale’s face before he tried to kill him, the Antichrist steps forward. 

“You love him,” he says. “You’re in love with Aziraphale.”

Crowley bites out, “I don’t love an _angel._ ”

“Yes, you do,” the Antichrist replies, infuriatingly certain. “He loves you too.”

Crowley can’t help but laugh at that, but the Antichrist just keeps talking. 

“He was trying to protect you,” he says. “He thought Heaven would leave you alone if he did that.”

“How do you know that?” Crowley hisses at him. 

The Antichrist just blinks and explains, “Well, I’m human now, but before you took us out of that airbase, I wasn’t completely so I could still feel what Aziraphale was thinking. He really does love you, you know.”

“No,” Crowley mutters, “I didn’t.” 

_He must be right, he’s the flaming Antichrist! Well, not anymore. But still. Aziraphale really thought that would save me? He was still trying to get on Heaven’s good side! Let him stay up there with those cold bastards for all I care! If he loves me, he loves Heaven more._

…

“Well, that’s hardly surprising,” Gabriel says. “I always thought he’d run away like a bitch with his tail between his legs.”

Aziraphale takes a deep calming breath. Then another. Then he turns to Gabriel and shouts “Fuck you!!”

Apparently, calming breaths don’t work well on furious, heartbroken angels. 

Gabriel stares at him in disapproving shock before gritting out, “How _dare_ you talk to me that way!”

Aziraphale cries out, “How dare you try and get me to smite him? He’s my _friend._ ”

Gabriel laughs and says, “Aw, what a sweet, naive angel. He’s not your friend. What, you think he loves you too? Demons can’t be friends with angels and demons don’t love.” 

Gabriel turns to Beezlebub for confirmation, but they have summoned a moldy bowl of popcorn and seem to be happily settling in to watch a fight.

Aziraphale feels uncharacteristically inclined to indulge them. 

“He does love me! And more than that, I love him.”

Gabriel laughs again, but this time it comes out nervous and hollow. “Surely you must be joking, Aziraphale. If you loved a demon, you’d Fall.”

Aziraphale summons his white wings and relishes the matching expressions of fearful shock on Beezlebub’s and Gabriel’s faces. 

“You’re hardly in tune with the Almighty’s wishes, Gabriel,” Aziraphale snarls. “I’m not Fallen, and you’re not Her mouthpiece. I bet She’s ashamed of what you’ve made Heaven into. Well, you know what? I’m not ever going back. I can serve the Ineffable Plan just fine without you.”

Gabriel seems to gather his control together and demands, “Now, you stop that right now! I don’t know what sort of joke you’re playing, but you’re going to come with me to Heaven for your treason trial. And Beezlebub will track down your precious demon and punish him as well!”

Aziraphale ignores the threats and steps closer to inform Gabriel, “I will not _ever_ go back to Heaven. I’m going to go to my demon, and if anyone tries to harm either one of us, I will fight them like the Guardian of the Eastern Gate should. And let me remind you that She gave me that title. So why don’t you both think about that for a bit, and then leave us both alone, thank you very fucking much.”

Aziraphale does not wait around for Gabriel to say anything else and instead transports himself back to his bookshop. There, he inventories all the books Adam appears to have given him when he put the bookshop back together. 

Then, he makes himself a cup of tea and allows himself to think of Crowley. 

_I’ve really mucked it all up this time, haven’t I? The poor boy will never forgive me, never, and I don’t deserve it anyway. Thinking I could get back into Heaven and everything would be just tickety-boo when it is clearly not. I wouldn’t be surprised if he never talks to me again._

… 

Crowley paces his living room, occasionally throwing himself down onto his ornate throne, only to launch back up again and continue pacing. The ostentatious hedonism of such a chair is offensive to him right now. He’s been stripped to the bare, bleeding bones so why is that chair so fucking showy?

He’s cleaned the remains of Ligur from the carpet, but the room still smells like Holy Water to him. He could go pace somewhere else, but sometimes a sting of pain helps focus Crowley. 

And right now, he’s got a lot to think about. 

_So Aziraphale loves me. But he tried to kill me. To protect me. But also, to get back on Heaven’s good side. What does he want with those pricks anyway? What does Heaven have that I can’t give him?_

__

Well, a lot of things. But they don’t love him. Not like me. 

__

_And that’s the point. I still love him. After he did all that. After he chose Heaven over me. Again. And again. And again._

Crowley hisses in dissatisfaction as he slumps in his throne. For once, the velvet offers no welcoming embrace, no sweet sigh of acceptance. A hard wooden chair would have seemed as comfortable to Crowley right then, and it would have fit his current feverish monk aesthetic much better. 

“I should ignore him,” Crowley declares. _Isn’t that what people do, when someone hurts them? I won’t talk to him, won’t pop by to see how he’s doing. No, I’ll just mind my own business and leave him to his._

Crowley closes his eyes.

_Can’t believe he was actually going to smite me. Won’t harm a fly, but he’ll smite me. Fuck._

Crowley opens his eyes, but can’t seem to get the image of Aziraphale’s Grace twining around his arm, glowing bright and holy, sizzling in the air, smelling like Falling, coming closer and closer to Crowley, Aziraphale’s eyes desperate and determined, _he's coming closer he’s going to do it he’s going to smite me! Angel, angel! Why are you doing this! No-_

Crowley chokes on nothing, fingers trembling and twitching on the armrest.

“Fucking hell,” he snarls, once he’s recovered. Wearily, he runs a hand through lightly charred hair. 

“Fancy a nap, I do,” Crowley mumbles as he stumbles into his bedroom. _It’ll all be better when I wake up._

…

It’s been four days since the Almost-Armageddon, and Aziraphale has done a complete inventory of his bookshop, something he’s never done before. Two days ago he had looked up with crazed eyes after his 14th hour distractedly reading, but really waiting for the phone to ring, and decided he was going to do something productive. 

48 hours with only infrequent hot cocoa breaks, and the bookshop looks almost as neat as it was before he moved in. 

“Well,” Aziraphale says with a smile. “That’s done.”

Aziraphale’s face falls as he realizes he has nothing else to distract himself with. _Good Lord, I must be able to think of something to do. I could organize, I suppose. I did find some books I wouldn’t mind gifting to the right person, so perhaps making this a more...typically organized bookshop would draw the right person in. Yes, I’ll organize it into sections._

Six days after Almost-Armageddon, the bookshop looks like a neat, clearly labeled bookshop. Aziraphale misses the towers and stacks, but can’t deny there’s something nice about having things in their proper places. 

Anyway, he’s sure it’ll get all disorganized in a bit, so he won’t have to miss the precarious stacks for too long.

_I wonder what Crowley will say about it._

__

No, he might not ever say anything. He might not come back, ever again, and I can’t blame him. I’m a fool of an Angel, and I’m paying the price for my mistakes. 

__

Maybe he’ll come back eventually. In a few decades. Oh dear, I don’t want to wait that long. But he hasn’t called me yet, so he’s probably asleep or ignoring me, and either way, I won’t bother him. The least I can do is give him his privacy. 

__

Oh, I do hope he comes by eventually. I owe him several apologies. But I can’t just keep waiting for the phone to ring! 

__

_Actually, I could. Just for a few more days. Maybe he’ll ring._

…

Crowley restlessly sleeps for four days. Everything is _much_ worse when he’s asleep. He hasn’t had dreams as awful as these since the 14th century. 

His dreams are all of Aziraphale. 

There are some nice ones, to be sure, memory-based dreams of oysters in Rome, sweets in Austria, bottles and bottles and bottles of wine in the backroom of the bookshop.

But just when Crowley’s finally relaxing into his silk sheets, the nightmares appear.

Aziraphale shouting “I don’t even like you!” as his Grace coils around his arm and his fearsome wings beating sounds like Crowley Falling down the Stairs. Crowley begs Aziraphale over and over and over to run away with him, to go somewhere just as cold and dank as London, like Alpha Centauri or some other star, _any_ star, anywhere but here, but Aziraphale always shakes his head and walks away. “Don’t do it!” Crowley cries out, but Aziraphale just looks at him coldly, saying, “It’s all for the best.” 

Crowley begs, Crowley cries, but Aziraphale keeps advancing, glowing brighter than any star Crowley ever made, bright enough to cauterize the demon’s weeping, wounded eyes. The angel comes closer and closer and it burns, it burns so bad, Crowley can smell charred meat and he _knows_ it’s his wings, Aziraphale is burning his wings, and still Crowley begs for mercy and beseeches the angel, but Aziraphale says nothing and it burns it burns it burns so much-

Crowley wakes with a sobbing gasp, his claws twisted in his shredded sheets. He curls into the fetal position, waiting for his tears to run out, if they ever will. 

_I’m a stupid fucking demon. All I want right now is for Aziraphale to hold me, to cool these phantom burns that he himself caused. All I want is him, even as I still tremble in fear from what he almost did._

__

_I’m such a useless mess._

__

_A useless, piece-of-shit waste of space._

__

_Why do I want to go to him? Am I moth drawn to the flame? What the fuck is wrong with me, that I can’t keep away? Why can’t I just fuckng ignore him? It hasn’t even been a week and I want to go to him, get my fix of Angel._

__

_Well, I suppose we could have some sort of conversation. He loves me, right? Isn’t that all I ever wanted?_

__

_It’ll be alright, I’ll make sure of it. We’ll talk about it for a bit, and then we’ll ignore it and I’ll be fine, totally fine, and I can love him! I can love Aziraphale!_

__

_I am such a shit demon. For fucks sake, I’m running back to him already._

__

_What the fucking hell kind of being thought it would be funny for a demon to fall in love?_

...

“Crowley.”

“Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale coughs into the awkward silence that solidified after the acknowledgments. 

“Would you like to sit?” the angel offers, fiddling with his pocket watch chain. 

Crowley grumbles an agreement and slinks over to the sofa, sprawling himself across it with a determinedly casual air. 

“Tea?” Aziraphale offers hopefully, after a strained silence of several seconds. 

Crowley makes a noise that Aziraphale cautiously interprets as “No.” Finally, after a silence so weighted that the angel can practically taste discontent on the air, Crowley clears his throat. 

Aziraphale immediately focuses on him, waiting for him to say something. Crowley raises an eyebrow, possibly waiting for Aziraphale to say something. Aziraphale looks away. 

“Right,” he hears. “Let’s have a bit of a chat, shall we?”

“Y-yes,” Aziraphale says, mildly cursing his corporation for the voice crack at such an inopportune time. 

Crowley removes his sunglasses, adjusting his slouch so he has room to gesture as he begins to speak. “Adam,” he points in the vague general direction of Tadfield, “told me,” here Crowley points, possibly subconsciously, at his snake sigil, “that you,” the demon points at Aziraphale, “love me,” here Crowley makes a very confusing gesture that Aziraphale realizes belatedly was an aborted move to form a heart with his hands.

Aziraphale waits for Crowley to continue before realizing that the demon expects him to start talking. 

“Oh!” he says. “Um, yes. I do love you.”

Crowley looks wearily surprised, like he was both expecting and not expecting that, and both happy and unhappy to hear it spoken aloud. 

“Alright,” he mutters. “And you know I love you, eh?”

Aziraphale smiles briefly. “Yes,” he says. “I’d suspected, but I didn’t know for sure until 1941. And I couldn’t mention it, then. I was rather emotional about the whole thing, you see, and I simply couldn’t risk any lack of composure. I-I couldn’t possibly let Heaven find out. But I knew, Crowley.”

Crowley softens a bit, the smallest smile tugging at his frown. 

“‘M glad you knew,” he says softly. 

Aziraphale relaxes in the fond silence, basking in Crowley’s affectionate gaze. _Oh, we still have to talk about it, don’t we? I don’t suppose it would be very angelic of me to just try and kiss him right now._

Crowley’s features harden minutely, and Aziraphale knows with sudden certainty that there is a lot more talking to be done. 

“I’m sorry,” the angel blurts out. “I am truly so very sorry, Crowley. You _have_ to understand I only would have done it to protect you. You see, I thought-”

Crowley cuts him off with a wave of his hand and says, “Yes, yes, I understand. Adam told me everything.”

Aziraphale doesn’t ask Crowley to explain that, instead he continues apologizing.

“Um, good. But I really thought it would help you! I never meant to hurt you, but I know I did. I’m so sorry for that, and I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

Crowley bites out, “I forgive you.”

“No!” Aziraphale cries out. “Don’t! I don’t deserve it, don’t forgive me. I’m sorry, sorrier than I can say, and nothing I can say or do will ever be enough to make up for what I did.”

Crowley hisses, “That’ss the fucking problem, sssee?” 

Aziraphale stares in horror and worry at the expression of loathing on his dear Crowley’s face. Loathing for Aziraphale, as expected, but also loathing at _himself._

“P-problem?” Aziraphale asks. 

“It isss enough,” Crowley snarls at him. “It’s enough for me to come crawling back to you after I ssaved the world for you, gave it to you on a ssssilver fucking platter and you tried to ssssmite me! And I couldn’t even stay away for more than a week before I had to fucking ssssee you!”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmurs. 

Crowley hisses, “Don’t give me that ssshit. Don’t act like you’re a sweet angel who loves all. Do you love me?”

“Yes! Of course!”

“Well, I love you!” Crowley shouts angrily. “I love you, and you left me, didn’t even say goodbye and I thought you were dead.”

Crowley spits out his words like they’re burning his mouth. “That’sss a strange sort of love! ‘Sspecially coming from a being of love. Loving someone and leaving them and trying to kill them.”

“I-I wasn’t going to _kill_ you, I assure you-”

“Yeah?!” Crowley shouts. “Ssssure fucking looked like it!”

Crowley glares in triumph when Aziraphale has nothing to say in response. 

“Plussss!” he adds. “You were trying to get back with Heaven! Why the Hell did you want to go back there?”

Aziraphale stammers, “I-I don’t really know, I wasn’t thinking straight, I really don’t understand myself sometimes, I’m sorry, dear boy, so sorry.”

Crowley’s scowling stops and he steps closer. 

“Aziraphale,” he says. “Do you really love me?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale murmurs. “Yes!” he says, louder. “I do love you, I do! I love you terribly much, so much that it scares me, but it shouldn’t, because I think it was meant to be, ineffable you might say, and oh, Crowley! I love you and I’m sorry I left you and I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

Crowley sighs tiredly, defeatedly and mutters, “Let’s not talk about it anymore, eh?”

Gently, he enfolds Aziraphale in a rather bony embrace. The angel is rather shocked, since they’ve barely bumped shoulders before, but he supposes after declaring your love, a hug is rather fitting. 

Slowly, Aziraphale raises his arms to rub warm circles on the demon’s back. He runs fingers up and down Crowley’s spine, and hears the demon huff in quiet contentment and hold him tighter. _He’s so cold, must be from being a serpent. Look, he’s shivering in my arms. I’ll keep you warm, dearest. I won’t let you go._

After a few minutes, both of them are lightly swaying on their feet. When Crowley doesn’t appear to realize that they are rather top-heavy and in immediate danger of falling over, Aziraphale starts to pull away. Crowley grasps him tighter, but then seems to understand and steps back. Aziraphale clutches his hands before he can go too far, and watches Crowley stare down at their held hands with the softest smile. 

“I love you so much,” Aziraphale whispers to him. Crowley doesn’t look up. 

“Do I deserve that?” Crowley asks. “Did I deserve what you did?”

Aziraphale opens his mouth to respond, to say _something,_ but Crowley just shakes his head and quickly says, “Nevermind. Don’t wanna think like that.”

Finally, the demon looks at him. “I love you, Angel. More than anything you can imagine.”

Aziraphale runs his thumb over Crowley’s hand, a casual gesture that he can’t stop smiling about. The angel looks at his demon, golden eyes sickly bright but softer than he’s even seen them before, and knows he’ll never really make it up to him. 

_How would I feel if I were in Crowley’s shoes? I’d never speak to him again, but look at him, coming here so soon, my dearest boy. He came back to me, when I thought I’d never see him again. I must make it better. I’ll do anything, everything to earn his forgiveness even if I don’t really deserve it._

“I’m so sorry, Crowley,” the angel whispers. “I’d do anything to go back and do something else.”

“No more of that,” Crowley says with a carefree smile. “Got anything to drink?”

“Erm, yes, quite a bit actually,” Aziraphale says.

“If you love me,” Crowley says, walking away. “Pour me enough alcohol that I forget everything except that you love me back.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I absolutely love comments, so please comment if you have any criticisms or compliments or whatever.


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